


Pulvis et Umbra Sumus

by WinchesterPooja (chronic_potterphile)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Love, Caring Dean, Drama, Episode: s11e06 Our Little World, Gen, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Sam Winchester, Suicide, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronic_potterphile/pseuds/WinchesterPooja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billie will not let go of Sam. Dean, however, will not let his brother go either, and is determined to win this one too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulvis et Umbra Sumus

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [cassiopeia7/Deb](http://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/), the talented, talented lady who prompted me. You are so, so fabulous and I am so lucky to have been able to claim your art. I love every bit of what you made for this fic and you are amazing. <3 
> 
> Here is the fabulous [Art Masterpost](http://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/591291.html)
> 
> [Allison/DarcyDelaney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyDelaney), my lovely beta has been such a sweetheart and a (Cas-like, beautiful, amazing) angel. Thank you so much, hon. :)
> 
> My two wifeys, [Naila](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy) and [Sanj](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNxBookworm/pseuds/SPNxBookworm), for always being here for me and for cheering this on.
> 
> The mods of spn_reversebang for hosting this every year. You guys are so fabulous. I love you.
> 
> The title of this fic is from _Horace_ , and it means that we are made of dust and shadow.
> 
> I am extremely sorry about the bad formatting re allignment of the art. AO3 wasted two hours of my life not letting me centre them out.

 

 

  


 

 

 

 

  
_Oh, Death_  
  
Life is a beautiful lie; death is the painful truth.  
  
Dean can’t remember where he’d read that. Maybe Sam told him, or maybe Cas did. Maybe it was a text or a quote on a billboard. Maybe it was painted across a wall, or maybe a victim from a case had said it to him once.  
  
Maybe Alastair had said it to him at some point while cutting him in Hell.  
  
Dean doesn't know.  
  
Whatever it is, he didn’t care. He doesn’t care.  
  
And, anyway, life for them was never beautiful. Life is ugly. Death is uglier.  
  
_Oh, Death_  
  
He runs like there’s no other way. Like he never has. The echo of her voice raises goosebumps, making his gut churn and he can see her, a shadow; a silhouette, but he thinks he has her face memorised by now: her big hair and her peaceful eyes; lips singing like she’s saying a prayer.  
  
_Won’t you spare me over another year_  
  
There’s a light before him; a big, strong light, and Dean thinks he knows what it is. She keeps singing, the song unnervingly beautiful in her voice. But it’s not… it’s not beautiful. It never was. Dying is sad and horrible and messy. Nothing like she says. But what would she know?  
  
_What is this, that I can see, with ice-cold hands taking hold of me_  
  
Dean crosses over, one brave step after the other, and looks into the light. There’s someone there, standing just at the border, a little into the light. Dean can see the silhouette and he can recognise it clearly. He knows who it is.  
  
_When God is gone and the Devil takes hold, who will have mercy on your soul_  
  
_Don’t go there_ , Cas had said. _It’s not your destiny_ , _she’d_ said, but fuck them both, _Dean_ decides on what his destiny should be and if he can’t stop it, he will make sure he _follows_.  
  
That he follows his little brother into this void.  
  
_Oh, Death_  
  
He steps ahead. _Sammy?_  
  
His brother doesn’t turn, though, and when Dean joins him, just at the border where the light begins, Sam doesn’t even notice him. His eyes are focussed ahead, widened in fear and wonder and Dean clenches his jaw, raising a hand to touch his brother’s shoulder.  
  
A voice calls out to him, strong and melodious. _Dean._  
  
It’s Billie. He ignores her and clutches his brother’s arm. _Sammy,_ he pleads, desperation filling every inch of him.  
  
_Dean, you have to leave,_ Billie says from behind him.  
  
This time, he turns around. _Screw you!_ he says. _I came here for my brother._  
  
She is unshaken. She just crosses her arms at her chest, eyes slightly soft. _You lost, Dean,_ she says, _and you're gonna have to leave._  
  
_No!_  
  
She moves closer to him as Sam starts walking, too, further away from Dean. He turns his attention to his brother. _Sammy!_  
  
_He can’t hear you,_ Billie says. _He’s with me now._ She stops and checks her watch. _And your time just ran out, too. Sam’s mine. I’m taking him with me._  
  
And Dean watches in horror as Sam takes a few more steps ahead, completely disappearing into the light.  
  
_My name is Death and the end is here._

 

 

 

  
Walking barefoot in the bunker is never comfortable, but Dean can’t find his slippers. Or his shoes. He’s hungry, though, and he reckons that’s what woke him up in the middle of the night like this. He needs something to put into his stomach and _fast_. Even though he has nights like this sometimes, _holy fuck_ , he’s never ever woken up so ravenous.  
  
A sound from Sam’s room gets him to stop in his tracks and when he leans in closer, he hears the TV. Cas. Dean chuckles. Poor Sammy has had to shift base to a spare room ever since Cas started marathoning TV shows. And Cas never sleeps, either, so there’s that, too. Currently, he's caught up on _Sense8_ and he won't stop jabbering about that to Sam and Dean. _It is really intriguing, Dean, that a Korean woman can let a Kenyan man channel her talent for fighting, and bring him to fight like she would. How does he get the physical strength that she has?_ Or, _I believe the Mexican man might be menstruating._  
  
Okay, that last one, Dean didn't even care to ask Cas if he'd heard him right.  
  
Dean’s stomach growls, getting his attention back to itself, and he starts to make his way to the kitchen again. It’s probably Sammy’s healthy cooking tonight that’s making him hungry. Who the hell likes to skip burgers and fries for that hoity toity tofu crap that Sam loves? How does Sam live in that house-sized body eating only this much?  
  
Damn, he’s going to raid the fridge tonight. And God knows, he’s earned it. Apart from Sam being the worst chef on the planet, the Amara thing is a mystery and a half on its own and the last few weeks have been a flurry of shitstorms.  
  
He's just setting foot in the kitchen when he hears someone calling out to him.  
  
_Dean_.  
  
He turns, raising an eyebrow. The voice is female, a little deep, but well, he’s obviously imagining it, or…  
  
He is starting to gather himself to go check on whoever it is, when she talks again. _Dean._  
  
A burst of light appears before him, silhouetting a woman, tall and curly haired, and he can’t see her… not clearly, because there's someone else behind her and... _what is that?_  
  
She advances towards him, unperturbed. _You have seven days,_ she says. _Seven days and I’m coming for you._  
  
He tries to ignore her, fixing his eyes on the other figure behind her. He doesn’t know why he can’t stop looking there. It’s another silhouette—another person, and Dean notices now that the figure is actually suspended, feet hovering barely an inch from the ground. He feels a shudder pass through him as he watches the other person with their arms spread and strands of hair fanning apart…  
  
Dean.  
  
_Dean._  
  
_Dean?_  
  
Dean opens his eyes with a start to find himself on the cool, tiled kitchen floor with Sam and Cas kneeling over him.  
  
He blinks. “What the hell happened?” he asks, and from the concerned looks on Sam’s and Cas’s faces, he knows that it can’t be anything good.  
  
Sam's expression twists as though he's trying to get rid of the worry lines on his face. “You tell us,” he says. “Cas heard a crash and woke me up thinking something was here, but then we realised you'd...”  
  
“I'd…?”  
  
“Fainted.” Sam's lips quirk up just a little, as though he's trying not to smile.  
  
Dean glares at his brother. “Bitch, I don't faint,” he grumbles, feeling the colour rush up his cheeks. He groans after, though. His head throbs, probably because... yeah, he _fell_. Fell to the floor. Crashed. Tripped. Was thrown. Not fainted. He clears his throat, squints about. “Where are they?” he asks Sam, when he can't see the two silhouettes he'd followed.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“That woman. And that other... _thing_.” Dean licks his lips. “You guys didn't see anything?”  
  
“Uh... no,” says Sam, “did you?”  
  
“Yeah, I…” Dean stops, remembering what Sam had said to him about having visions. “You... uh, we need to talk.”  
  
Sam nods and gives Dean his hand, but Dean swats it away as he sits up by himself and watches Sam get up to bring them some coffee. Cas's eyes fix on Dean for a moment and he looks like he wants to help Dean up, but Dean glares at him and he gets the message. They head to the table together, Dean rubbing a bit at the throbbing back of his head as they seat themselves. Sam comes back with the coffee, giving one to Cas and Dean, and getting one himself before joining them. He's determined when he looks at Dean.  
  
“Dean,” he says, “what did you see?”

 

 

 

 

  
They find a case just as Cas leaves for Gaza the next day. But that is all after they get Cas to the airport for his early-as-fuck flight and after the second nightmare that Dean’s had since his vision (it's two nights in a row now and Jesus fuck, seriously?). Once they drop Cas off, both Sam and Dean grab a few hours of sleep, which is when the hair lady comes back and does some more of her cryptic whispering.

_Six days,_ she says, and he can see her a bit more this time. She’s black, beautiful just like that eerie voice of hers, and her hair is in those big-ass curls. For some reason, her hair scares Dean, like tendrils of them can just extend towards him and—

He swallows, and thinks of what she just said.

She crosses her arms over her chest. _Six days, and I win,_ she repeats.

_What is that supposed to mean?_ Dean asks her, but she only chuckles.

_Ask your brother,_ she says. _You have six days, Dean._

And then Dean’s awake, shaking and sweating and panting again, but thankfully he’s on his bed this time and he didn't wake Sam up.

It’s all blurred together for him later that morning; what with Sam announcing from his laptop that he thinks he might have stumbled upon a report that suggests a nest of vampires an entire day’s drive away. “Maybe we should let someone else do it, then?” Sam suggests as a follow up to that piece of information. “I mean, with Amara, and Cas in Gaza…”

“Let’s do it,” Dean replies as he rubs his eye with the heel of his palm. “Vampires, man, how long since we hunted some of those? A couple of years? That Alex case?”

“Uh, just last year with Donna and Jody, actually,” Sam reminds him, “and then you took down that nest before we found the Werther box.”

The Werther box and the weeks following are still a mess in Dean’s head. He waves a hand at his brother. It's been long enough. Pack up. “We’re leaving.”

“You sure?”

“Why not?”

And, Dean thinks, yes, this this exactly what he needs. A fucking old-school hunt. Screw Hair Lady. So he gathers up his shit, gathers up his little brother, stuffs them all in the Impala, and drives to the hunt. He doesn’t even complain about Sam’s noxiousness once he’s consumed a burrito. He just cracks the windows open and continues to sing along to Zeppelin. And Sam doesn't reach for a second burrito so Dean guesses his brother just had mercy on him.

They'd left the bunker when it was already late in the afternoon so it’s almost midnight by the time Dean decides to stop. Sam’s been snoozing in the passenger seat for the last couple of hours and Dean can tell his brother is tired, so it makes sense to just take a break and catch some shuteye. Plus, Sam hadn’t eaten much after that single burrito. He just picked at his dinner when they stopped at the diner, pushing wilted lettuce leaves into his mouth for a couple of minutes before deciding he was done. Dean didn't say anything—they both have those days when their sleep and appetite are just out of balance.

He wonders vaguely if this is what it’s like to grow old.

He smiles to himself, drives on, and finds a motel that doesn’t seem too bad before he wakes Sam up. And Sam’s really fucking exhausted by the looks of it because he’s blinking and yawning and looking a little confused. He straightens, squinting at Dean. “We there already?”

“No,” Dean replies, frowning. “We left way too late for that, Sam, we’re stopping. Could do with some rest.”

Sam sags against the seat. “Oh.”

Dean lets his hands rest on the steering wheel for a moment before starting to move. “C’mon, I’ll get us checked in, you gather our stuff. Cool?”

Sam yawns, seems to contemplate this for a moment, and then nods. “Cool. Go on.”

Dean pats his brother’s shoulder for a moment before proceeding over to the reception area. There’s a matronly lady at a desk, and he exchanges niceties with her, wondering about the last time he paid attention to something so small, as she hands him over the room keys. When he comes back, he sees that Sam’s not out of the Impala yet. In fact, when Dean looks in through the car window Sam’s fast asleep again, snoring away like a goddamned lion.

 

 

  
“Sam!” He raps his knuckles against the window and Sam startles awake. At first, his eyebrows furrow in confusion but then his eyes widen, guilt written all over his face. “‘M sorry, Dean, I—”

“It’s okay,” Dean says. “I know you’re tired. You can sleep again once we get inside the room and check in on the case.”

Sam looks like he wants to protest, mouth drawn in a tight line and eyes almost glaring, but he just nods and starts to get out of the car. He blinks blearily a couple of times as Dean walks toward him. He squints at Sam as he grabs his duffel. “You okay?”

Because in the light from the motel sign, Sam looks a little pale.

Sam shrugs. “Just a stupid headache. It’ll pass.”

“Tylenol’s with me,” Dean tells him. “Come on, you can take some.”

“Cool.”

Dean trudges toward the room, listening as his brother follows him, shuffling a little, but Dean isn’t worried. Headaches are a part of their lives, even if they get really bad. After Hell and demon blood and the Mark of Cain, headaches are a piece of cake. Plus, Sam's a grown-ass man who can take care of himself and he sure as fuck doesn't need coddling for something like this.

By the time they’ve moved their things in and Sam’s opened up his laptop again, Dean’s really pumped. The last time he ganked some of these fuglies, went all brutal on them, Sam didn’t approve. This time, though, he’s going to enjoy cutting those bloodsuckers’ heads off with his brother by his side.

_Just like the old times._

Because it’s too often that they find themselves craving those days when they didn’t have so much shit to sort through. And sometimes, going back to where they started is all they need to remind them of why they’re here and what they stand for.

 

 

  
Sam is glad to finally shut off the laptop and curl up under his bedcovers at one in the morning. The Tylenol did not help and his head is pounding worse than ever, in sync with an uncomfortable, racing heartbeat. His stomach feels unsettled and his whole body is achy, like he’d been thrown against a brick wall. He was sick a couple of times on the way here and he hopes Dean didn't notice.

He’s been experiencing this headache-malaise combination on and off since last week, though the stomach-ache and puking are new. He knows he’s coming down with something—the flu, to be specific—and he wishes that it would just either go away without affecting him, or run its course and leave him alone instead of looming over him like this. Although it will have to wait until after the hunt to claim him now.

He holds one of his pillows against his gut, hoping to stop the cramping and nausea as he takes deep breaths. And it is a while before Sam finally falls asleep with the sound of Dean’s steady breathing and distant oncoming traffic playing a familiar melody to his ears.

**~o~**

  
Hair Lady is back in Dean’s dream, haunting him as she stands before him, just outside the motel room this time, enshrouded in bright light. Dean blinks. _Why the fuck don’t you tell me what you want?_ he asks her, agitation prickling at him.

She raises an eyebrow. _You didn’t ask Sam, did you?_

No, of course Dean didn’t ask Sam. Sam has his own shit to deal with even without all of this. He can go on without knowing of a random woman in Dean’s dreams.

Dean squints at the figure behind Hair Lady, the same one that’s always been there, floating inches above the ground, arms outstretched in welcome to… _something_. He tears his eyes away from it and faces the woman.

_How do you know Sam?_ he questions her, folding his arms over his chest. _Do you go and disturb his sleep regularly, too?_

_I’m not disturbing your sleep, Dean,_ she says. _If you listened to me, you’d know—this is a warning._

_About what?_ Dean’s pissed off now. _About what?_ he repeats. _If you’re so fucking concerned, tell me._

She smirks and glances behind her. There is a _thud_ as the other silhouetted figure falls to the ground. _Go have a look._

_What are you…?_ Dean takes a step forward, eyes widening.

_You have five days,_ she says again. _Be wise._

Dean moves ahead, and finally looks into the dead eyes of his little brother.

_See you, Dean,_ she says, before vanishing along with Sam.

And Dean wakes up again, sits bolt upright in his bed with his heart pounding hard against his rib cage and his brother’s name on his lips. “ _SAMMY_!”

Before him the bathroom door opens and Dean just about makes out Sam’s sweaty face before his little brother falls flat to the ground in a dead faint.

 

**~o~**

 

“Sam!”

Dean’s on his knees beside his brother, trying to gauge Sam’s condition as he tests Sam’s pulse. “Sammy,” he whispers, feeling the weak, thready twitching of Sam’s carotid, dread filling every part of him. His brother is running a slight fever and he looks ill.

Who is that woman and what did she do to Sam?

Dean had thought… had thought…

He thought this had something to do with him and the Darkness, he realises. He hadn’t acknowledged this, not really, but it seemed like the only explanation, and…

What is she going to do to Sam in five days? _Fuck_.

Dean swallows down fear, along with a giant lump in his throat as he cups Sam’s neck. “Wake up,” he says, as though that will get his brother going. “Wake up, Sam, for fuck’s sake.”

Sam rebels, stays unconscious, and Dean wants to kick him.

His knees hurt, so he gets down cross-legged beside his brother, and moves a hand to Sam’s hair. “Sammy?”

Sam’s breath hitches and Dean leans in, running his hand through Sam’s hair to comfort him. “Come on, dude,” he says. “Don’t be such a fucking prince.”

“Hmm,” Sam mutters, as though in reply, eyes fluttering, and Dean’s heart fucking misses a beat.

“Sam!” he calls again. “Sammy!”

“D-Dean?” Sam’s voice is a whisper and the moment his eyes open, Dean wants to shout out a halle-fucking-lujah to whatever woke his brother up.

“Sam,” he replies quietly, grinning. “You asshole.”

“What’d I…?” Sam blinks, takes a deep breath. “Did I…?”

“You fainted.”

“I d-didn’t…” It’s Sam’s turn to be flustered as he makes to get up.

Dean puts a hand on his chest. “Whoa, dude, take it easy. You have a fever. You just passed out.” He pauses. “Why didn't you tell me you were sick?”

He doesn’t add; _it’s like déjà vu_.

Sam understands that. “S’rry,” he says.

Dean shakes his head. “How long have you been feeling bad?”

Sam doesn't reply and Dean shakes his shoulder. “Sam!”

“A week?” Sam mutters.

“Excuse me?”

“A week.” Sam looks into Dean's eyes, voice stronger now. “But it's just been a headache, Dean, I swear.”

“And it got bad just now?”

“Today, yeah.”

Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “Sam,” he says, “if you weren't feeling good you should've just told me, dude. We wouldn't have gone out to hunt.”

“I told you I wasn't keen on hunting,” Sam rasps, making Dean want to kick himself. Of course, Sam wouldn't _obviously_ mention that he isn't feeling well. Dean's gotta pick up on hints like this, and actually, he usually does.

This time his instincts failed him.

Dean wonders how it came to this; from both of them recognising and understanding what the other person wanted through the sound of their fucking breaths and footsteps, to Dean not realising Sam was in distress after a whole week of his brother acting cagey. And today has been the biggest hint, what with the single burrito and the frequent bathroom breaks that Sam seemed to need and the non-existent appetite that evening and the ghostly pallor and the excessive sleeping.

Sam tried to tell Dean he wasn't a hundred percent.

Not that Dean hasn't been failing a lot as a big brother recently, but this bothers him the most because this is some of his basic instincts when it comes to his brother. And then, what did Hair Lady mean? _Ask your brother,_ her voice taunts him, but Dean looks at his brother right now all white and sweaty and breathing heavily, and he thinks, he should maybe bring this up in the morning when Sam is (hopefully) feeling better.

He places a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Wanna get to bed?”

Sam heaves a deep breath and nods. “Okay.” Dean scoots over, helps him up and gets him to lie down, pulling the sheets from underneath him and wrapping him up in them. Sam moves sluggishly, trying to get comfortable, and Dean remembers he'd taken Tylenol just a couple of hours ago. And that doesn't seem to have worked. Dean doesn't want to start any internal bleeding for Sam by giving him some aspirin now.

Sam fidgets some more, forehead wrinkling as he tries to escape the light from the lampshade and Dean turns it off, letting the bathroom light guide him as he wets a washcloth and gets back to his brother. He digs out a water bottle from his duffel before going over to the kitchenette to empty a couple of sachets of sugar and salt into it. He shakes the bottle a few times, places it on Sam's nightstand, and kneels next to Sam's bed before pressing the damp cloth against his brother's forehead. Sam hisses.

“It’ll help,” Dean tells him, smoothing Sam's hair back. “You want some water?”

Sam grunts out a _no_ and tries to burrow himself further into his blankets.

“Sammy,” Dean coaxes him, “you passed out. I'll get you some Gatorade later but for now, you gotta drink this.”

“No, please don’t make me,” Sam whispers again and Dean remembers that Sam had been in the bathroom before Dean had woken up earlier.

He squeezes his brother's shoulder. “You been throwing up?”

“A few times,” Sam replies. “I'll be okay. J’st wanna sleep. Please.”

“All right,” Dean sighs, watching his brother for a moment as Sam curls up and tries to go to sleep. If Sam says he'll be fine, Dean trusts him, but that doesn't mean he won't look out for his little brother anyway. He gets up to put the trashcan beside Sam’s bed before getting back to his own bed and lying sideways so he's facing Sam. He doesn't suppose Sam will need him—he actually hopes that Sam will be able to have a sound sleep and will feel better in the morning.

Dean's hopes are shattered two hours later when Sam wakes up retching and delirious. It's a frantic hour of thermometers, cool washcloths, aspirin, and some horrendous rounds of Sam chucking up bile and dry-heaving by turns. Finally, _finally_ at dawn, Dean somehow finds himself falling asleep while sitting against Sam's headboard, his one arm encircling the trashcan while the other is around Sam, pulling him close while Sam snoozes and drools on Dean's shoulder.

**~o~**

  
Morning comes and goes and Sam’s not doing any better. Dean leaves his side to go to the vending machine and puts together a quick breakfast of candy and soda, hiding a burp behind the back of his hand as he checks Sam’s temperature. One hundred and two; it was a degree up last night, so Sam’s better in relative terms, but he’s still not doing well.

Sam sleeps on, a restless but desperate sleep as the fever ravages his body. And he mumbles. He mumbles about Hell and the Cage and Lucifer and Dean has to take deep breaths to quell his own nausea. Sam hasn’t had these nightmares in a while. Rather, Dean hasn’t witnessed them since they moved to the bunker.

He changes Sam’s washcloths, looks for hunters in their journal and makes a call to one of them to take care of the vamps. Then he tries to think of a comfortable way to drive back to the bunker where Sam can recuperate. Maybe they really did rush this. Maybe they needed to rest for more than just a week.

The sun goes down and Dean’s feasted on more candy and soda, but Sam’s temperature still stays the same. He’s sleeping with his mouth open, giant, drooling snores echoing through the room, and Dean sighs as he sits beside his brother. He’s dosed him with more aspirin and changed more washcloths than he remembers and he wonders if maybe it’s time to try a cold shower for Sam. If that helps, Dean will take him back home.

He pats Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, wake up,” he says, voice a little raspy from disuse.

Sam stirs, but does not comply.

“Sammy,” Dean coaxes, his hand rubbing a circle on his brother’s arm, “we need to go back to the bunker. And I’m not carrying you to the car.”

Sam takes a sharp breath at that, opens a bleary, glassy eye. “D’n…”

Dean smiles at him. “How you feelin’?”

“Like crap,” Sam sighs, and thank God he’s not delirious, Dean thinks.

“You wanna go home?” Dean asks him. “Or d’you wanna rest here some more?”

“The-the vampires?”

“I called Mark about them,” Dean replies. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve had a bad day there, dude.”

Sam runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he scoffs, “I can feel that.” He licks his lower lip once. “Think I’d like to go back to the bunker, Dean. The bed’s shit here.”

Dean knows that’s not the reason Sam wants to go back, but he smiles. Home is always the best place to be when you’re sick. They never had that growing up, especially Sam, and Dean’s glad he at least has an opportunity now.

He gets off Sam’s bed. “Go get a shower then, stinky,” he chuckles, making a show of wrinkling his nose. “I can barely stay in the same room with you without throwing up at how much you’re reeking right now.”

Sam throws Dean a bitch-face and Dean feels his heart leap several levels at that. He helps Sam to the bathroom because it’s really unnerving how Sam’s not able to walk by himself right now. He’s taking sharp breaths at every step, eyes blinking sluggishly, and Dean wonders just how bad of a headache the flu has given Sam. He lets Sam sit on the closed toilet as Sam starts to get his hoodie off. Meanwhile, Dean rummages through Sam’s duffel for a t-shirt and another pair of jeans. He’ll want to wear the hoodie in the car again, so Dean gives the long-sleeved shirt a skip.

Sam’s trying to get his sweats off when Dean enters the bathroom to put the clothes in the sink and turn on the shower for him.

“Tell me if you need anything,” Dean says to him as he shuts the door behind him, moving to lie down on his bed. He shuts his eyes and listens to Sam puttering about and then showering. It lasts a while—Sam seems to be enjoying getting clean. It’s all white noise, Dean thinks, taking deep breaths. But that stops when he hears Sam’s voice from inside.

“D-Dean!”

It sounds strained. Painful. Dean frowns, heart hammering as he stands up. “Sam, you okay?”

Sam doesn’t reply and Dean swallows down his anxiety as he approaches the bathroom. “You’d better be decent,” he says. “I’m coming in!” He doesn’t wait for a reply, however, as he opens the door and steps inside, only to see his brother (dressed, thankfully, in his t-shirt and boxers), sitting on the edge of the bathtub, doubled over in what looks like utter agony.

“Sam?” Dean kneels beside him, grabbing his arm, and Sam’s letting out small puffs of breath now. “What happened? What is it?”

“Th-think…” Sam swallows audibly. “D-Dean, I d-don’t… oh God…”

Sam’s jaw clenches, hand fisting at Dean’s shirt as he folds into himself some more. Dean puts an arm around him. “Hey, hey, you need the hospital?”

Sam shakes his head, and Dean clutches him tighter. “Sammy, what is it? How bad is the pain? Scale of one to ten, come on.”

“Sh-shut up, Baymax,” Sam replies, trying to laugh, and Dean can hear his pained breathing still, and he feels so fucking helpless right now.

He gently shakes his little brother. “Hey. I can’t help you if you don’t help me. Meds? Hospital? What do you need?”

Sam groans, an ugly sound Dean hasn’t heard him make in a long time, and he’s about to start fucking panicking right now because Sam’s not well and shit is going to hell, and—

Sam mumbles something.

“What?” Dean scoots even closer, if possible.

“E-Eight,” Sam whispers into his ear and at that moment, one-by-one, there are alarms going off in Dean’s head. Eight is bad. Eight is horrible. Eight is what they say when they don’t want to admit to a ten.

He feels Sam’s hand tug at his shirt again and tries to remember to breathe. “Sammy?”

Sam doesn’t reply. Instead he lifts his shirt, revealing his abdomen.

And that’s when Dean’s lungs give up on trying to inflate. Because, surrounding Sam’s belly button and smattering his flanks like little islands, are massive bruises.

Dean stands up immediately, getting Sam up with him too, as gingerly and gently as he can without jostling his brother too much. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“We’re going to the hospital,” Dean tells him.

“But I’m—”

“You’re not fine and something’s really fucking wrong with you!” Dean snaps. “You’re gonna let me take you to the hospital, Sam, or so help me—”

“Okay,” Sam huffs. “Okay.”

And Dean remembers the dream and Hair Lady from last night, and really hopes to all hell that it wasn’t real. When has he or Sam ever been lucky in that sense, though?

_I will not let Sam die,_ he promises to himself as he leads his sick, half-dressed brother out of the motel room and to the Impala, so they can haul ass to the hospital.

 

 

“How long has your brother been sick, Mr. Priestly?” the doctor asks Dean as they stand at the nurse’s station. The hospital is quiet. Dean can smell the nauseating antiseptic and he wants nothing but a cup of coffee and to take Sam back home.

Dean takes a deep breath, scuffing his shoes nervously against the pristine tiles. “Sam seemed fine until yesterday, but he says he’s been feeling off for a week now.”

“A week.” The doctor glances inside Sam’s file before handing it over to a nurse. He adjusts his glasses as he looks at Dean. “Does he drink?”

“Sometimes. Maybe a couple of beers a week.”

“And he’s not taking any medication for any systemic condition, either. You didn’t mention any on his form.”

Dean shakes his head. “He’s a healthy kid.”

“Did he injure himself at all? Last week?”

Dean tries to remember, but he can’t. They haven’t been outside much after the Amara incident. This is their first hunt. But while they were at Crowley’s headquarters—or whatever that was—Sam had taken down some demons, and Dean remembers that Amara had flung him off with her powers. But they get flung off a lot like that, and what has all this got to do with the flu anyway?

He licks his lips. “If he did, he didn’t tell me, Doc. I don’t understand why this is connected to him being sick. Should I be worried?”

The doctor’s expression doesn’t waver. He pockets his pen, straightens his glasses again, and Dean can tell the news is not good even before the doctor starts talking. “Your brother is suffering from acute pancreatitis,” he says, “which, from what I can assume, is a result of abdominal trauma. This is not the flu, like you seem to have suspected.”

“You mean he’s bleeding—?”

“No, it’s an inflammatory response,” the doctor clarifies, “and we have a complication.”

“What?”

“The bruises you saw on Sam’s abdomen, surrounding his umbilicus and on his flanks, they signal an advanced stage of his condition. And if you couple that with the fact that he has a fever with raised heart rate, he’s slipped into what we call a systemic inflammatory response syndrome, or _SIRS_.”

Dean blinks. “What does that mean?”

“SIRS is a condition that is similar to sepsis, and if not controlled, it can lead to multisystem failure and death. So I hope you realise that the steps we have to take for Sam right now are urgent.”

“And-and you’re just—you’re just standing here talking to me and…?” Dean’s temper is rising, but the doctor’s hand is on his shoulder.

“It’s already reached an uncontrollable level. All we can do now is keep him here, monitor him, and wait and watch. If it were an infection, I could tell you that the antibiotics would make him better. If it were a direct wound, we could sort it out and try to resolve it, but you should know; his body is rebelling against his injuries. So we can only control what we know how to, and hope that it works. This is no one’s fault. We get cases like this once in a while and we can only pray for the best at this point.”

Dean wants to catch this doctor by the collar and punch his fucking face but he stands back, nodding numbly and watching the man leave because he remembers that right now, this hospital is the only hope for Sam and he can’t have them both thrown out. He grits his teeth and swallows against the lump in his throat before pulling out his phone to call Cas, hoping his friend won’t be too late to cure his brother. And then he has to remind himself that there are still four days, and that thought in itself makes him feel sick to his stomach.

Tonight, he’ll find out who Hair Lady is, and he will make sure Sam gets out of this shit alive.

He dials Cas’s number as he makes his way to Sam’s room, hoping against hope that it will all work out in their favour. Sam needs a break. Not more shit like he’s facing right now.

Dammit, for all Sam’s done, he fucking deserves a vacation, but all he and Dean have now is _hope_. And Dean knows they don’t even have that because they are the fucking _Winchesters_.

He snarls at the horribleness of their situation and walks on to find his brother, removing all the thoughts that linger in his head whispering, _four days left_.

 

 

**~o~**

  
_Did you ask him?_

Dean wrings his hands together, watching Hair Lady emerge from the light. Sam’s just behind her now, not floating anymore, but standing, his back towards Dean.

Hair Lady smirks. _Unbelievable,_ she says, _you still haven’t bothered—_

_I had a lot more on my mind,_ Dean interrupts her, _than asking him who you are. So either you tell me now, or fuck off._

Her eyes darken. _You don’t have to give me that attitude, kid._

_I’m not a—_

_I’m millions of years old. You might as well be wearing diapers and drinking formula._ She crosses her arms, eyes narrowing. _My name’s Billie,_ she says, _and when Sam wakes up, ask him what that means to him. Then we’ll see about you mouthing off._

The dream ends abruptly and Dean can feel his chest heaving as he gasps, eyes flying open.

“Dean?”

He hears Sam’s voice as he straightens up in the hospital chair, neck throbbing mercilessly. His brother is awake and supine on his bed, staring at Dean, nonplussed. “You okay?” Sam asks.

“Y-Yeah,” Dean says, rubbing his neck. “How’re you…?”

“I’m better,” Sam mumbles. “At least, I feel better.” His eyes rove to his heart monitor and Dean can see that his heart rate is still high. _SIRS_.

_Ask your brother._

He remembers Billie’s words as he bends forward to feel Sam’s forehead, which is still warm. His brother shakes his hand away and squints at him. “Dude!”

“Just trying to check your fever, bitch.”

“Yeah, Dean, but there are doctors and nurses around here for that.”

Dean shrugs, fiddles with his fingers again. He can feel Sam’s eyes on him, but doesn’t want to look up right now. He just wants this to be okay. Maybe to push a reverse button and ask Cas to put that unseen injury right from last week, so they don’t have to come to this.

“Anything bothering you?” Sam’s voice is soft, understanding. Like he’s talking to the family of one of their victims. Sam always knows. They’re so horrible at keeping secrets anyway; it comes out all ugly, bursting forth like something terrible and rotten.

God, does Dean really look so _pathetic_ right now that Sam has to coax said secret out of him with the Victim Voice?

He collects himself just a little. “Apart from the fact that you fucking injured your pancreas, of all the goddamned things that you could injure?” he scoffs, but none of it comes off as funny or teasing. _Dammit_.

Sam could have injured anything else that Dean could fix. Why this?

“No,” Sam’s eyes are serious, genuine, and Dean holds on to his brother’s gaze. “Tell me,” Sam insists.

Dean sighs. “Sam.”

“Dean…!” Sam looks indignant now.

He bites his lip. “Who’s Billie?”

The effect is immediate. Sam’s eyes are widening, jaw working, and Dean knows, just _knows_ that they’re screwed. “How d’you…” Sam swallows. “How d’you know her?”

“She’s…” Dean starts, playing with the hem of his shirt. “I’ve kinda been having visions, too, Sammy.”

“Of—of _her_?”

Dean nods. “You know who she is?”

“Yeah.”

“Then who—?”

“She’s a reaper,” Sam whispers. “Billie is a reaper, Dean.”

And Dean’s pretty sure his whole world implodes right then and there.

 

 

**~o~**

 

 

Billie is pissed. She isn’t letting Sam or Dean go. She’s not putting them in Heaven or Hell.

Just the void, where Death had promised to send Dean.

No.

Sam’s readings are not good. Dean sits by his bedside, refusing to leave as the medical staff comes and goes, nurses giving him injections, checking his vitals, the doctor taking rounds, and on and on. Sam drifts off mid-morning, tired and sick, and Dean _thinks_ , thinks he’s dying, but pushes it out of his mind because he just _can’t_.

Sam doesn’t wake up for a long, long time and when he does, his fever is too high and he is out of it.

He’s wiped with more washcloths and injected with more fever reducers, and Dean calls Cas again, requesting that the angel come back right the fuck now.

Cas says yes, he will, and Dean lets himself relax just a bit at that. Cas can fix this shit. All Sam needs is a bit of angel mojo, and Billie can go to hell.

He waits for his friend, falling into a restless slumber in the process.

 

 

Dean dreams of Billie, and she’s huge; like a giant, towering over him and Sam. She bends forward happily, hair shooting out in tendrils and wrapping around Sam. _No,_ Dean whispers, moving closer to his brother. _No._ He starts to undo the ropes of hair that tie Sam up but they’re too strong. Billie grabs him, tugging over and over and Dean runs, runs, pulling Sam back. _No,_ he says, _you can’t have him._ He stumbles and he’s almost losing his brother but then he crawls forward and holds on to Sam’s leg.

Billie tugs harder, eyes gentle, like she’s going to take care of Sam, like she’s going to smooth out all his pain, but Dean knows, _knows_ —no one can take care of Sam better than he can and she doesn’t need to do his job. This was his task ever since the fire; ever since their mom died and their dad sought revenge every minute of his life. The job’s always been Dean’s.

He puts all his strength into keeping Sam down, keeping Sam to himself, but Billie is too strong and and she’s dragging Dean along with Sam. And he thinks, okay, okay, he can do this. Maybe he can let her take him, too.

Billie seems to have read his mind. _Stay away,_ she says, _it’s not your time._

_Take me too,_ he retaliates. _Take me, bitch!_

But she doesn’t listen. _Three days,_ she says simply, Sam still wrapped inside her. _Three days, Dean._

And she is gone. And Sam is gone, too.

 

**~o~**

 

Dean wakes up in the middle of the night when he hears beeping and a flurry of activity in the hospital room. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but the moment he opens his eyes, hands are getting him to stand up and gently guiding him out the door. Sam is on the bed with his chest heaving as he struggles to breathe, going blue, and Dean watches as the doctor puts a tube down Sam’s throat. Dean blinks, trying to clear his vision because _not real_ , but the doctor is beside him next, talking.

“He’s heading towards multisystem organ failure,” the doctor is saying. “He’s hypoxaemic. His readings were already not what I’d like them to be and he just seems to be getting worse.”

Dean opens his mouth, swallows, and finally finds his voice. “What just happened?”

“It’s called respiratory failure,” the doctor says. “All the symptoms and signs point to your brother having it.” And then he explains it, says something about partial pressure and oxygen saturation but it all sounds like a particularly bad _Dr. Sexy_ episode and goes over Dean’s head.

They move Sam to the ICU. It has visiting hours and a shitty waiting room and Dean hates that he has to keep away from his own brother. For the rest of the day, for as long as he can manage it, Dean’s by Sam’s bedside, watching him breathe through a machine. He thinks that maybe he should call it all off, relieve Sam of this shit life they’re living, and just give in to Billie.

But then in the evening just as visiting hours are ending, Cas arrives and puts two fingers to Sam’s forehead, and Sam triggers the vent some more and in the next blood report his numbers look better so Dean holds on to his hopes again even though he knows he’ll come to regret it.

When could he ever be on board with Sam dying, though?

 

 **~o~**

  
Sam’s doing better in the morning. He’s full-on triggering the vent, and he even wakes up once and gags on the stuff before he has to be sedated.

The doctor on call has her hands in her pockets as she stands outside the ICU, and Dean glances at Cas while they both listen to her. “Patients don’t usually spontaneously get better,” she says, “not at the stage that Sam is in at this moment. However, we’re going to see how he does without the ventilator, if he maintains this. Maybe wean him off the sedative, too.”

Dean nods numbly. “Are his organs still failing?”

The doctor gives a short, unsure nod. “I’m afraid so, Mr. Priestly.”

And Cas has never looked guiltier or more ashamed of himself than when he and Dean share another look.

 **~o~**

  
“What did the reaper say to you?”

Dean is in no mood to explain it all to Cas again but he does anyway, leaning against the window in the waiting room as Cas watches him from behind. It’s close to dinnertime and Dean’s stomach is growling from the lack of food.

(How can you be expected to eat when your brother is dying?)

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is closer, and Dean grinds his forehead against the cool glass. He feels sick. His head throbs lightly, and he doesn’t want to hear what Cas has to say because it’s all mostly pointless. But Cas is there, standing next to him, saying something anyway. Bastard never knows when to shut up. Dean really hates him for that sometimes.

“Do you hear me?” Cas asks again, and Dean nods, throat tight. No, he didn’t hear that, but he has an entirely different thought process going on in his head.

 _Sammy is dying._

Cas is still talking. “I think I can level out the unruly parameters that are making him show symptoms, like I just did with his blood oxygen levels,” he says, and he sounds incredibly patient. Dean thinks he might have said it before. “Dean, like you know already, preventing the symptoms doesn’t stop the disease in itself. How much more time did you say the reaper gave you?”

“Three days,” Dean replies _. Almost two._

“Then we should look for another solution.”

A flash of anger consumes Dean. “Ya think, Einstein?”

“You need to get your strength up,” Cas goes on, like Dean didn’t just snap at him. “I would suggest you go back to the motel room while I keep watch here. And then we can look into how to save your brother.”

“No,” Dean replies. “I’m not leaving my brother alone.”

“I’m here for him, Dean. We’re not even allowed inside the ICU. I will be around if anyone’s needed,” Cas assures him. “I think you need a break.”

“No, Cas.”

“At least eat something.”

Dean’s stomach growls again. He watches as Cas sits back on his chair, eyes angry as they train themselves on Dean. “Think of how Sam would feel if you were to fall ill, too,” Cas tells him quietly, like the sneaky son of a bitch that he is.

Dean’s stomach lets out another rumble, and he rubs at his eye with his knuckles. “Okay,” he says, “I’ll be back.”

“And I’ll be right here,” Cas promises, as Dean leaves the room, feeling selfish that he’s going to do something as useless as eating while Sam’s in pain.

He’s pushing fries that taste like cardboard down his gullet at a greasy diner around the corner, willing himself not to throw it all back up, when he is struck with an idea. Before he can realise it, Dean has asked for the cheque, dropped some cash on the table, and is driving back to the motel room.

 

 

Dean’s Beretta glimmers in the moonlight, the handle catching the silver and scattering it everywhere. He admires his gun for a moment, just a moment, before taking a deep breath and pressing it against his abdomen, right where he knows his liver is. Maybe he shouldn’t spatter the bedcovers with his blood. Maybe he should do this in the bathroom because tile will be easier to clean. But then he thinks of Sam lying there in the hospital, suffering in worse ways.

His finger shakes on the trigger and he fumbles with it for just a moment before pulling it.

He only remembers a loud bang and a sickening spattering sound before everything goes black.

 **~o~**

  
Billie is pissed when Dean finds her. She’s right outside the motel room when Dean walks out, because he can no longer bear the sight of his own dying body out there. He stands before her, stretches out his arms. _Here,_ he says, _you got me._

 _Not what I wanted,_ she replies.

 _Doesn’t look like you have a choice. You can let Sam go now, because this sweet piece of ass is yours._

She turns around to him, arms folded across her chest. _You’re not going to die,_ she says, _but your brother is._

 _Which is why I’m cutting you this deal,_ Dean says to her.

She moves closer to him, and they’re face-to-face now. _And who are you to dictate the terms of any deal, kid?_ she snarls.

 _You don’t get to touch Sam,_ Dean growls back.

 _Oh, really?_ she asks him, sneering. _So after you killed my boss, wrecked the natural order time and time again, and caused so much destruction, you expect me to obey you and do what you want?_

 _Yes, and sweetheart, I’ll do it all again,_ Dean tells her. _I’ll kill your boss again, and I’ll kill every one of you if it means my brother gets to walk free._

 _I’d like to see you try,_ she whispers.

He crosses his arms, too. _Really?_

 _Oh, it will be entertaining,_ she says, _to watch the great Dean Winchester jump even more hoops to prolong a life that ended ten years ago._

Dean feels a flash of panic strike at him and Billie’s eyes flash as she smirks. _Or, have you forgotten Cold Oak, Dean?_ she asks him, tilting her head. _Sam was on our list, you know. Had he given up on you back when you had that heart attack, there never would have been this whole fiasco. But, on our list, Sam died on the thirtieth of April, 2007—right along with all the peace that this world could have._

 _Don’t you dare,_ Dean growls at her. _My brother saved this world. He saved all our skins, including yours, so don’t you dare!_

 _Really, Dean? After having broken it all in the first place?_ Billie shakes her head. _I’m not taking you, so you can leave. God knows why you still try to save your brother, but I’m not my boss and I don’t have a soft corner for you._

She starts to turn away and the world around Dean twists. He lost, he realises, his plan didn’t work. He didn’t even die and Sam’s gonna be gone, and…

 _SCREW YOU,_ Dean yells at Billie’s retreating back. _Screw you! You aren’t even human. You don’t know what it’s like to have a dad or a mom or a brother. Or to have someone worth saving; something worth staying back on this screwed-up planet for._

Billie continues to walk, and Dean grits his teeth. _You don’t know what it’s like to have a family,_ he says, _to have people who’ve got your back._ His eyes are stinging now. _And you don’t know Sammy and what he’s done. What he’s fucking_ given, _to save all your ungrateful asses. So screw you and your reaper friends. You can have him, but I swear I’ll be there the next moment right there by his side, getting sweet revenge and kicking all your asses; and let’s just see what you can do to stop me._

Dean feels himself being pulled back as the reaper suddenly halts in her steps, and he gives in to it, thinking he wasted time, thinking he could be back with Sam. However, the next moment it all stops, and he’s face-to-face with Billie again.

She shakes her head, smiling. _Look at you, giving me a lecture about family._

 _You’re not even human,_ he hisses back at her.

 _But I know your kind too well,_ she says, _and I’m taking Sam, Dean. This ends here. But,_ she pauses, lips smiling smugly, _since you want to play this game with me, I’ll cut a deal with you._

 _I don’t want any of your deals. You get off my brother, or—_

 _Fine, then, I leave,_ she sighs, starting to walk again, and Dean feels the irritation flood him. _Wait!_ he calls out.

She stops again. _I am not talking with you anymore. There are two days left. Do what you have to._

 _What’s the deal?_ Dean asks her, ignoring what she just said. _Tell me._

She shakes her head. _You can’t keep it._

 _I sure as fuck can!_

Her hair whips about her face, eyes narrowed and blazing as she takes two steps towards him. _You don’t even respect your own brother. What respect are you going to have for any deals I offer you? You’re just going to try and worm your way out._

 _Shut up,_ he snarls.

 _Hit a nerve, did I?_

 _We don’t need family counselling from you. And I respect what I have plenty, thanks._

 _Okay, then,_ she says, _here’s the simplest, and_ only _deal I’ve ever crafted. Prove to me that you and Sam still respect each other. I just want that. Two days. You get me to believe that, and Sam will walk away. Again._

 _And what do you get out of that?_

She raises an eyebrow. _You have two days, Dean._

 _I don’t understand your deal._

 _I didn’t expect you to._

Dean clenches and unclenches his fists. _What kind of shit deal is this? What is all that supposed to even mean?_

 _Take it or leave it,_ she replies, bored. _Either way, I need to go reap again, so if you’re done with your drama, just give me an answer._

Dean swallows. _Fine. I’ll take it._

The words are just out of his mouth when he feels the world dissolve around him. Seconds later he wakes up in a pool of his own blood, disgusted by the warm stickiness, wondering what Billie meant, and how the hell he’s supposed to keep such a vague deal this time, and what it all even means.

**~o~**

“You cut a deal with a reaper.” Cas’s voice is angry, assertive, and Dean knows that if he turns around, he’ll get to see just how pissed-as-fuck Cas is at him. And Dean doesn’t care. Sam isn’t Cas’s brother, so Dean doesn’t _care_. “Dean,” Cas pushes, “do I have to define _stupid_ for you?”

“Do you have a better plan?” Dean snaps. “It’s not like your angel mojo is working on him.”

“And deals always work out so well for you and Sam, right, Dean?” Cas replies, throwing the sass right back at Dean, and Dean hates it.

“Screw you, Cas,” he mutters. “If you can’t tell me what Billie meant—”

“I have no idea what she meant.”

“Good, then,” says Dean. “You can leave. I’ll look for the answer.”

“Where?”

That’s a good question, Dean thinks. He’ll look for it. He’ll search a library and he’ll use Sam’s laptop and he’ll just… he’ll just do _anything_ to get Sam back and screw Cas if he doesn’t understand.

“She wants me to prove to her that I respect Sam… or something.”

“Which you obviously don’t.”

“ _What_?!” Dean looks right up at him, heart missing a beat. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

Dean bares his teeth at Cas. “He’s my brother, you bastard. You of all people know the stuff I’m ready to do for him. If you want to support Billie in this shit, you can get the hell out.”

“I did not say that you don’t adore and cherish and love Sam very much—”

“Shut up—”

“But, what you and Sam have for each other is far from respect,” Cas clarifies, ignoring Dean. “Because if that were so, you wouldn’t go against each other’s wishes and choices about life and death, time and again.” He glares hard at Dean, the blues of his irises suddenly seeming extraordinarily bright. “You two are up for sacrifices like no one else; always throwing each other away and then going back, with no value for what life is.”

“Shut up, Cas.”

“I will if you want me to,” says Cas, “but that reaper was right. You and Sam have no value for your own lives. People lose their loved ones; sometimes too soon, and I have observed them for years in heaven. I have seen people who’ve had to live solitary lives, terrible, lonely lives and yet, here you are, with your brother by your side at all times, back from the dead at every opportunity you get, and all you do with the blessing of the extended life that you receive is—guess what—” Cas’s nostrils flare, “you throw it all away.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Really, Dean?” Cas’s shoulders are heaving a little with anger. “You really think you utilise all the gifts you get? Because if you really feel that way, I can no longer help you understand why you are in this situation.”

“I don’t need your explanation.”

“Good, then maybe I should just leave like you asked me to.”

“Yeah,” Dean tells him, “if you can’t shut up and help me figure out what Billie wants from me, maybe you should leave, Cas. Go watch Netflix. I’ll take care of it like I always do— _alone_.”

There’s a moment of silence as Cas’s shoulders slump. “Dean, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care.”

He sighs. “I’ll help you. Sam is my friend, too, and I treasure his life. Where do you want me to start looking?”

Dean stares at Cas for a long moment as he scratches the back of his neck. “Go to the library,” he says. “See if you can find anything on reaper lore about their deals. I’ll look into it online.”

“All right.”

Dean goes to the door and casts one last glance at the ICU, hoping that either he or Cas will find something tonight, so Billie will just shut the fuck up. 

**~o~**

The motel room is a terrible sight to behold, but Dean retrieves Sam’s laptop and gets back to the hospital as quickly as he can. He gets it running and opens Google but stops, fingers hovering over the keyboard. What is he supposed to type, to search for? He pulls out his phone, thinks of calling Cas for help… because… what would Cas be looking for?

It’s not that Billie asked for something material and specific… she asked for Dean to show to her that he _respected_ Sam.

Which of course he does. Sam’s his fucking _brother_ , isn’t he?

He’s staring at the screen when someone enters the waiting room. Dean looks up and Sam’s doctor is standing there, a smile on his face. “We got Sam off the ventilator,” he says. “He’s doing well.”

Dean bites on the inside of his cheek. “Can I see him?”

The other man checks his watch and nods. “It’s not visiting hours, but he’s awake and he asked for you, so you have my permission.”

Dean immediately puts Sam’s laptop back into its bag and rushes past the doctor to the ICU, pulling on the cap and fastening his mask before he’s reached his brother’s bed. And Sam’s there all right, awake and pale, and he looks thinner somehow, like he’s lost some pounds in just a few days.

Dean draws the chair beside Sam’s bed. “Hey.”

Sam gives him a wan smile. “Hey.”

“You feeling better?” Dean knows he’s not, but he wants Sam to, and so hard.

“Not really,” Sam admits, “but they gave me something for the pain n’all… so I guess I’m okay.”

“You went all scary for a while there, dude.”

Sam scratches at his nose. “Just remember not being able to breathe.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “they said your-your… um, lungs or something were failing.”

“Respiratory failure,” Sam nods. “So, uh—”

“Cas healed you. That’s probably why you don’t have pain, either.”

“But he couldn’t do anything for the SIRS.”

Dean feels his face scrunch up. “You’re talking like a doctor. And… uh, no, actually. He said he could do away with your symptoms, but only that.”

“So my body is still failing,” Sam huffs, “but just in a more convenient way.”

“Sammy—”

Sam turns away, and Dean stops. There’s silence. Dean looks down at his nails, at the congealed blood underneath them colouring them black. He hadn’t really washed them too well after his talk with Billie. And as far as that goes… maybe he should wash because Sam will definitely notice.

“There’s-there’s what,” Sam begins, “two days left now?”

Dean keeps his head down. “I’ll get you out of it.”

“I’ve met her, too, Dean. She means business.”

“I know.” Dean hesitates. “Sammy, she-she made a deal with me.”

“What?!”

If Sam could yell that out, Dean knows he would, but right now, Sam’s voice is just harsh, betrayed and quiet amongst the beeping and hissing of multiple machines. The lights are mostly out, all except one, above the table where a resident is sitting, his gaze focussed on Dean.

Dean knows he doesn’t have long before he’s asked to leave. He takes a breath. “It’s – it’s not _that_ kind of a deal, Sam.”

“Then what is it?”

“She…” Dean runs his tongue over his teeth. “I don’t know what she meant. I just…”

 _You don’t even respect your own brother._

“She what?”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He finally looks into Sam’s eyes, and they look tired, but calm and kind as ever. “Hey, Sammy.”

 _You don’t even respect your own brother._

“Hmm?”

Dean clears his throat. “You know—uh, you know I didn’t mean it, right?”

His brother’s brows furrow in confusion. “Mean what?”

“That—that… while we were cremating Charlie…” _I think it should be you up there and not her._ “I’m – Sammy, I’m—” _sorry_. “I never said I was—”

“You don’t ever have to say that,” Sam interrupts him. “Not to me.” And Dean is reminded of another time when Sam said that to him. The exact same words. Sam saved Dean’s life, and didn’t even accept a “thanks.”

And a few months later he just stood there, listening to Dean spew crap at him while they’d been cremating Charlie, someone who was as important to Sam as she was to Dean. And Sam never said anything.

Dean beat Cas up and didn’t let him heal when Cas returned the favour a few days later. Of course, they never said sorry, either; Cas is a good enough friend to have surpassed all that but Dean had remembered the look on his face when he’d beaten him up. Cas would never accept an apology, but Dean couldn’t sit still without letting him know that he was sorry. He and Sam, though… they’ve never even needed that. They never needed to _settle_.

 _You don’t even respect your own brother._

When did the privilege, the brotherly code of not having to say “sorry” and “thank you” become the privilege of expecting forgiveness and gratitude for the terrible, most nasty things they’ve done to each other?

Billie was right. And fuck her, but she was.

Dean rubs at his eye. “Just please, Sammy—” He can’t get the words out. They’ve never done this. “Sam, forgive me.”

He said it when he was about to cut Sam’s head off. And Sam had looked up at him, trust and adoration and sadness shimmering through his tears, and Dean knew he was forgiven. For that moment.

“Please,” Dean says, blinking rapidly. “You need to forgive me.”

Sam’s jaw drops, eyes concerned. “Of course I do, Dean. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I never… I wasn’t pissed—that wasn’t even _you_.”

“I know you weren’t pissed.” _You were hurt and I did that to you._

“Dean, we’re good,” Sam mutters to him. “And hey, look, it’s okay, it’s—”

“It’s not okay,” Dean tells him in a hoarse voice. “You’re fucking dying.”

“And I’ve made my peace with it.” Sam sounds resigned even as he says it and Dean just doesn’t have any strength left over. “I’m all right with it,” Sam explains.

“I’m not.”

“I know,” Sam tells him, eyes brimming over. He blinks a few times, and looks away. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Dean whispers, leaning in closer and placing a palm gently on the back of his brother’s hand. “Not to me.” He finds comfort in sitting there with Sam—the only constant in his life. The only person who’s always, always been there. And as he pats Sam’s hand a few times, he suddenly realises what Billie meant.

And if what he thinks is right…

 _Oh, shit._

“Sammy.” Dean grabs his brother’s wrist urgently. “I think I know what she wants.”

His brother frowns. “What?”

“The-the amulet. That necklace you gave me.”

“Dean?”

Dean stands up. “I need to find it. I need to— that motel… we were in-in Kentucky…”

“Why? What did she say?”

“You-you gave it to me when we were kids,” Dean tells him, “and I threw it away, and of course… she wants to see it, if I get it, it’d be something I’d be able to prove, too.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Sam tells him. “Will you calm down?”

“I need to go,” Dean replies. “I need to find the place where I dropped it, Sammy.”

“So you’re just – you’re hauling ass to some other place with me sitting here?” Sam’s eyes widen. “Dean, I’m coming with.”

“No, no.” Dean makes to start leaving Sam’s room but his brother’s hand comes to fist the hem of his shirt in a strong grip.

“Dean,” Sam says, tugging at him, “if you’re going to go hunting for that amulet, _I’m coming with._ ”

 **~o~**

“You good?”

Dean tapes the IV to the back of Sam’s palm and starts to dig into their medical supplies for saline. They’re in the car all geared up for their road trip, and Dean wishes Sam would just stay in the hospital where other people could keep a constant check on his BP and pulse and stuff.

“I’m okay,” Sam replies, blinking blearily. Cas is sitting shotgun, quiet, and Dean knows he’s pissed at the decision to take this road trip.

This is a bad idea, Cas had said, but Dean thinks it’s a great idea. The fact that he kept that ugly-ass amulet was because Sam gave it to him. It was Sam placing his utter trust in Dean, and when Dean had thrown it away, it was him giving up on his own belief in Sam. Things had gone to shit between them back then. And now, if Dean gets it back, Billie will know that yes, he does value and respect his brother, and though a necklace shouldn’t have to be proof of that, Dean will have the pleasure of throwing it in her smug face.

When Dean finds the saline he comes back with the infusion set and rests the bag between Sam and the back of the seat as he attaches the tube. He starts to run it, lets the saline drip a little and then stop at the brim so there’s no air bubbles, and then connects it to Sam’s IV. His brother’s tired gaze follows him all the while and Dean smiles when he finishes, finally retrieving the blanket to cover Sam up.

“We’re going to have to check out that motel first. Talk to their staff and find out if they know about it,” he tells Sam. “I know it’s a long shot but it’s all we can start with. And it’s gonna take a while to get there, so you get your rest, okay?”

Sam nods. “You think the same staff might be working there, or that they might even remember? It’s – it’s been _years_ , Dean.”

“I’ll find it,” Dean tells his brother as gently as he can. “I’ll find it, Sammy.”

And Sam gives him a brittle, but glowing smile. “I know you will.”

Before his throat can clog up anymore, Dean quickly rushes to the driver’s seat and starts to pull the car out, hoping that he’ll be able to accomplish this. Two days isn’t much time at all and if he fails…

He catches a glimpse of Sam in the rear view mirror, watching him curl into his blanket.

He won’t fail. 

 **~o~**

  
The interstate is crowded with cars and the traffic moves slower than Dean’s ever seen in his whole life. It’s hot as hell and Sam’s squirming in the backseat. Dean has the air conditioning on full blast but Sam’s still too warm with the blanket and too cold without. They don’t even have a thinner blanket. Finally, Dean takes off his jacket and Cas, his trenchcoat, both of which are thinner than the blanket, and they drape Sam with them, watching him as he goes back to sleep with a contented sigh.

However, Dean has to pull off at the next exit because Sam’s too nauseated in the car and even while Cas heals him, he just starts getting uncomfortable again and again. Plus, Dean is hungry, as the distinctive growling of his stomach suggests to him.

He checks them into a motel, helps Sam to bed, asks Cas to watch over his brother, and hurries to get a greasy lunch of a cheeseburger and fries. When he’s back, Cas is channel surfing and Sam’s asleep.

Dean frowns at his friend as Cas pauses on a re-airing of _Gossip Girl_. “Dude, you’re addicted.”

“It’s a mesmerising story of some very manipulative, conniving teenagers,” replies Cas. “I don’t see what is not to like.”

“That Blake Lively chick is hot, but this is not my thing.” Dean shrugs off his jacket and gets his shoes off. “Put on some Doctor Sexy.”

“I don’t know what channel to find that on.”

“Gimme.” Dean snatches the remote from Cas and climbs on to his bed. He changes channels and finds the correct one, smiling and relaxing back at the advertisements. He checks his watch. “Should begin any time now.”

Cas adjusts his chair so he’s facing the TV better, then looks at Dean. “When do we have to leave again?”

“As soon as Sammy thinks he’ll be comfortable in the car.” Dean shrugs. He knows there’s a huge hole in that plan, and then there’s the whole concept of _they don’t have time_ , but…

“Dean, Sam is very ill. He might not actually ever be comfortable.”

“Yeah, then I’ll let you two stay here, and find it,” replies Dean, trying to stay calm. “You take care of him and I’ll sort Billie out.”

“And if you fail—”

“I won’t.”

“Dean, listen to me,” says Cas, and Dean reluctantly turns to him. “It is highly unlikely that you will be able to locate the amulet in such a short time period.”

“It’s what she wants.”

“Maybe you should ask her to be more specific. It doesn’t make sense that she’d set a deal that you can’t keep up with.”

“She wants to take Sam with her,” Dean mutters, glancing at his brother. “Of course she wants me to fail, Cas. It’s why she’s being so ridiculous.”

“I doubt that,” Cas insists. “I understand she’d want the upper hand, but she wouldn’t make it _impossible_. Please, just try asking her, Dean, because if you leave now and don’t get back in time…”

He trails off, and Dean hears what he didn’t say.

 _Sam will die and you won’t be here with him._

Dean lets out a breath, staring helplessly at Sam and wondering if he’s still interpreted the deal wrong.

 **~o~**

  
Sam wakes up just as Dr. Sexy starts to operate on a five-month-old baby with an inoperable brain tumour. The baby is the only child of his parents, conceived after a lot of difficulty, and the situation just gets more heartbreaking when his father begs Sexy to save the baby, because he’s sure his wife will die if her child doesn’t survive.

The tumour will kill the baby within a month and Sexy is the only one with enough talent and experience to save him.

Dean doesn’t even know his brother is awake until Sam groans at Sexy kissing Piccolo in the supply closet, promising her that it will all turn out just fine.

“This is such shit.”

Sam’s gravelly, weak voice is like music to Dean’s ears and he immediately mutes the show. “Hey! How you doing?”

“Body hurts. Kinda nauseous.” Sam scrunches up his face. Dean nods at Cas, who immediately gets up from his place to heal Sam of the queasiness. Some of the greenness on Sam’s skin vanishes as the angel gets to work. “Thanks, Cas,” he mutters.

“So you ready to get moving?” Dean enquires hopefully.

He is met with Sam’s puppy eyes, and his heart sinks. “Dean,” Sam begins, “I don’t think I can take the movement in the car.”

“We need that amulet.”

“And just what did she say to you?” Sam asks him. “Did she specifically ask for that amulet?”

“No.”

“So why won’t you just tell me, Dean? I can help, you know.”

“Sam, I—”

“The reaper wants proof that Dean still respects you despite what you’ve both been through,” Cas interrupts Dean, and Dean glares at him, only to be ignored by the angel. “Dean thinks that the amulet proves the mutual respect, love, and trust you had for each other, and that finding it would be proof enough to keep up his end of the deal.”

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean grumbles, throwing his pillow at him. “I didn’t say that.”

“But that is what he means,” says Cas as he catches the pillow, still not talking to Dean, and Dean has to resort to staring at a curious stain on the carpet because there is just no way he is looking at his brother or Cas right now.

The stain looks like a T. Rex pushing a boulder, thinks Dean, trying to ignore the loud silence around him. He can _feel_ Sam gaping at him but he won’t look up, won’t talk. No. No way in hell is he discussing this shit with anyone. And later he’s going to fucking get ahold of Cas and fry his stupid wings in—

Sam clears his throat. “You know that a necklace doesn’t have to mean any of that, right?”

More silence. Dean scratches at his cheek, Sam’s words resonating in his head.

“It was just a necklace. An amulet. A piece of jewellery. You threw it away, and I—” Sam’s voice catches in his throat. “I wasn’t okay with that for m-maybe a while. But afterwards, Dean…” he stops there, and Dean is forced to look up at his brother, and see the surprise and gentleness there.

“Dean,” he says again, slowly, “you might have thrown away that amulet but you were pissed, and you’d lost hope, and I get it. And you know what? All that mattered to me was that you had faith in me when it counted. When I wanted to take on Lucifer. You believed I could do it and you,” he lets out a small chuckle, “you fucking stood by me, dude. Even though you only had everything to lose. Then you got me my soul back. You grounded me when I was lost after. You carried me through the trials. You killed Death so you wouldn’t have to kill me. These are just the big things.” He swallows audibly. “You save my life _over and over,_ Dean. I’ve seen the shit you’re prepared to give up for me. And I don’t need that amulet to know that you won’t give up _on_ me.”

Dean’s breath shudders a little as he takes it in. _You save my life_ _over and over_. He can remember Sam saying the exact same words once before. He’d said it when he’d found out Dean had sold his soul, and after they’d killed Azazel. When things were less fucked up because Dean was the one dying, so Sam was still good.

“You can tell Billie that this is how I feel,” Sam continues. “Tell her what I know about you. Is that the proof she needs? She can talk to _me_ if even that isn’t fucking enough, then.” Sam sounds angry, indignant, jaw clenching and unclenching, and Dean can barely control the burning in his eyes. He opens his mouth, wanting to talk, but all his will, his voice; it’s all gone, and all he can do is stare at his brother.

Sam gestures to the TV, hand shaking a little. “And if we’re done with that, let’s watch your crappy TV show now. I don’t think you have anything else to worry about.”

Of course Dean has _everything_ to worry about. Sam is fucking dying and it’s so far from _okay_.

“If I do die,” Sam says softly like he’s read Dean’s mind, “If Billie doesn’t think this is enough, I want you to know that it is. I want you to remember that she doesn’t get to judge what you are to me, and vice versa. And, Dean…” he huffs out a breath, “I want you to know that I am okay with dying, and it’s not your fault.”

Dean bites down on his lip, feeling a single tear slip down his cheek as he nods. He’s not okay with it. He _will_ get Sam out of this. He’ll talk to Billie, and he will find out what this is really about, and he will free Sam of this awful death sentence.

In the meantime, he composes himself as he puts the volume back up on the show. The baby with the brain tumour is on chemotherapy, and Sam laughs at this. “Dude,” he says, “they don’t give chemo when the cancer’s in the brain. You need to give radiation. Your Dr. Sexy really sucks.”

“Shut up, geek,” Dean chides him and glances again at Cas, who’s been pretending to watch the show this whole time, and who looks at Dean and smiles.

Dean smiles back through the horrible, ominous feeling bubbling in his stomach and for once, he can’t wait to see Billie again.

 

 

_It’s not the amulet, Dean,_ Billie says, the moment he sees her. She looks slightly sympathetic today, lips pressed together and hands clasped. _This is not what I wanted._

 _And Sam says that it isn’t necessary, either,_ Dean tells her. _And that he knows whatever I did for him—_

 _No, Dean,_ she says, _do you really respect him?_

 _Of course I do, you—_

 _Dean,_ she interrupts him. _You have one day. Think._

And she’s just leaving when Dean notices Sam standing behind her. Like he always does. Like he always did. He walks over to his brother. _Why is he always here?_ Dean asks Billie.

 _He’s been there a long time,_ she tells him. _He’s waiting._

 _For…?_

 _To die._ Billie looks directly at Dean. _He visits, on and off, and when Death was alive, we’d discuss if we should offer to reap him, but something would happen, and he’d leave. And then he’d come back again._

 _And how long has he been here this time around?_

 _A few months._

Dean’s throat is dry. _So-so he knew?_

 _No,_ she replies, _but somewhere, Dean, I think, subconsciously he’s given up. His soul is wounded. I’ve seen him bleed in ways you haven’t seen him physically suffer. Sometimes I think he spends too long waiting._ She stops, running a hand through her hair, her face gentler than Dean’s ever seen it.

 _I need to leave now,_ she says. _Good luck._

Dean doesn’t reply. He just stares at Sam, and keeps staring at the hope and anticipation in his brother’s eyes and wonders how much wrong he’s been doing all this time.

 **~o~**

  
When Dean wakes up and turns to Sam’s bed, he feels his heart sink, a forlorn sadness creeping up him and singeing his nerve endings as he watches his brother. Cas is at the desk with his head buried in his arms, pretending to sleep, because when Dean throws his blankets off, Cas is already looking up.

Dean, however, reaches his jacket for his wallet and removes some money and extracts his car keys, handing them all to Cas. “I need you to do something for me, Cas.”

Cas nods at him. “Whatever you want.”

“Leave and go back to the bunker. Or-or take a round. Visit Claire.” Dean lets his gaze fall to the floor. “Please.”

“Dean, Sam is very ill.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair. He swallows, takes a seat next to Cas at the table. “I saw him, Cas.”

“Where?”

“Billie showed me.”

“Don’t believe her,” Cas tells him. “You of all people should know, Dean, that she must be tricking you.”

“I know.” Dean tongues the corner of his mouth. “I know. But…” He stops there, unable to explain himself further. “You think I don’t let him decide what he wants, right? So…” He blinks at the blue of Cas’s irises. “I’m gonna ask him just that, Cas. I’ll do just what he wants. Deal or not, I don’t think Billie was tricking me.”

“And this is about as conclusive,” Cas tells him, “as Sam deciding that God is showing him visions.”

“It doesn’t matter, Cas. I’m just…” Dean sniffs. “I’m so fucking tired, man. There’s absolutely nothing I can do right and I’m not screwing up my little brother any more than I already have. I’ll—his breathing thing is okay for now and he’s been comfortable since last night. You managed to heal most of his symptoms. If – if… I’ll call, okay?”

There’s silence. Cas slowly takes the money Dean offered and then drags his chair back when he makes to stand up. “Take, care, Dean,” he says, at long last. “And take care of Sam.”

Dean just nods, but notices that Cas leaves the Impala’s keys where they are.

“I’ll hitchhike to Claire’s,” Cas assures him, on seeing the confusion on Dean’s face. “You need the car more than I do.” And with a last glance at Sam, Cas is at the door, and then gone.

Dean picks up the keys, the rest of his money, and decides to get Sam’s favourite blueberry pancakes and a smoothie for breakfast. He’s reluctant to leave Sam alone, but the way Sam’s sleeping right now, Dean knows he won’t wake up for a while.

He quietly leaves the room, hoping feebly for a miracle by the time he’s back.

 **~o~**

  
Sam is confused at everything Dean’s brought him, but he also seems to be interested in eating today. Dean smiles at the sounds of Sam brushing his teeth in the bathroom as he starts to open up the pancakes and the horrible-looking smoothie. He arranges them on the table, heart heavy in his chest, knowing he needs to talk to his brother now. He hates these talks sometimes. And he knows that today is going to be one of those times.

“I’m supposed to fast, though,” says Sam as Dean helps him back from the bathroom and sits him at the table. “The pancreatitis needs fasting and IV nutrition to heal.”

“And how do you feel?” asks Dean.

Sam’s stomach lets out a low rumble, colouring his cheeks pink with it. “’M hungry,” he admits, “but also kinda nauseous.”

“Nothing we haven’t dealt with before, then.” Dean passes him a container. “Dig in.”

“Dean…”

“You’re gonna be okay,” Dean whispers. “Eat up.”

He can feel Sam staring at him a long time, before Sam’s finally eating. He wonders if he’ll manage to gather up the courage to ask Sam the entire bunch of questions that are running through his head right now, and hopes he won’t fail.

**~o~**

“I saw Billie again, you know.”

“Hmm.”

“Sam.”

“Yeah, Dean.” Sam looks up from his last pancake.

“I saw Billie,” Dean reiterates.

“Okay, and…?”

“I saw you.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at that, indicating that he wants Dean to continue, but Dean can’t. He stops there, trying and failing to swallow down the lump in his throat. What if… what if Sam admits to – to everything Billie said? Confirm all of it? It’s not… she’s not serious, right? She’s manipulating Dean. Lying. Cas said that.

But the whole reason Dean sent Cas away was to have this conversation with Sam. To know for sure.

“What did you see?” Sam coaxes Dean, shaking him out of his reverie. “What did Billie show you?”

“She—” Dean swallows. “Sammy…”

His brother’s eyes are large and kind. Patient. “Tell me, Dean,” he says, voice lilting with gentleness.

“Do you _want_ to die?”

“What?!”

“You heard me.”

“I – Dean…”

“Sam, don’t lie to me. Billie told me. And if you’re gonna tell me the truth about this,” Dean takes a deep breath, “I think you need to do it _now_.”

“Dean…”

“Do you wanna die?”

“N-No… I mean, I’ve made my peace, but you—”

“So you wanna die.” There’s something bursting inside of Dean, threatening to overflow. He feels like the world is spinning, conspiring, turning against him. He had never thought… of course, Sam was ready to die a lot of times when it came to the probability of losing their lives on a mission or a cause. But the fact that he is okay with this… this pancreatitis and illness taking him… this is different. 

This means he’s given up.

“When…?” Dean sniffs. “D-D’you think of it a lot?”

“No.”

“When do you, then? Think of it, I mean.”

Sam shakes his head. “Not much, okay. Sometimes shit’s hard… but I’d never do that to you, Dean. Not if I can’t—”

“When’s _shit_ been hard enough for it?” Dean asks him. “That you just wanna give up?”

Sam shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re thinking of it right now!” Dean slams a fist onto the table, surprised at his own anger as he stands up. “Fuck, Sammy, you—”

“Dean, I’m not—”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me! Billie showed me. She said you’ve – you’ve been there a while!”

“Been _where_?”

“I don’t know… some reaper lair for people waiting for their chance to die!”

“Dean, I told you I was okay with it,” replies Sam, breathing calmly. He’s pretty pale and Dean knows that just because Sam doesn’t have much of the symptoms doesn’t mean he’s not sick. Maybe he shouldn’t argue… shouldn’t rile Sam up like this…

“Being _okay_ with it is different,” Dean snaps. “ _Wanting_ it, Sam? That is something else.” He pauses. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That I want to die?” Sam scoffs. “Seriously? And you’d say… _what_? That I need to drag on anyway? That you know life’s crappy, but I need to live? Or would you shove another angel into me by manipulating me and taking away any say I have about what I get to do with my body?”

Dean opens his mouth and shuts it as Sam abruptly gets up from his seat. “I’m done,” he says and stumbles to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Dean stares numbly at Sam’s leftover food, listening to him puttering inside and going about his business. Dean wills himself to say something, yell something at his brother, but he is physically unable to move or even talk.

Sam flushes the toilet a while later and hangs by the door as he opens it, staring longingly at his bed. He sways, eyelids flickering between being open and shut, and Dean rushes to help him. They don’t talk even as Sam gets settled in, pulling his blankets over him so he can sleep again. As he turns away Dean watches his brother’s chest moving with each breath, wondering how long ago he’d have lost Sam, if Sam had not thought about Dean before wanting to give up his own life.

 **~o~**

  
Dean can feel the end coming close. He watches Sam for a long time, watches him slip away from his grip and leave for another world before his very eyes. Sam looks pale as always, an uncomfortable expression on his face. When looking at him becomes too much, Dean opens the laptop, shuts it, and then settles for an airing of _Tom and Jerry_ on TV, still stealing glances at his sleeping brother.

He feels the discomfort in his own chest grow when Sam starts to stir. It’s lunchtime and Dean hasn’t moved or thought of eating. He’s just been sitting in one place, he realises, and his ass is numb but he doesn’t want to get up.

Sam snuffles and stretches in his cocoon of blankets. Dean wonders if he should start the IV for Sam again… but Sam’s tolerated his breakfast well, so maybe Dean should give him a break.

 _Because this is Sam’s last day._

Dean leans against his headboard. He hasn’t given up. He’ll never give up on his brother. Never in a million years.

 **~o~**

  
Sam wakes up suddenly, throwing away his covers like they’re burning him. Dean’s almost dozing off but the movement from his brother gets him alert, and he’s wide awake in seconds. “Sam?”

“D-D’n…” The whisper is desperate, pleading, and Dean’s feet fall to the floor as Sam struggles to sit up. He is by his little brother’s side in a moment, helping him and holding him up and Sam curls over, arms hugging his belly, eyes screwed shut. He hisses, clutching Dean’s wrist. “S-Shit…”

“What, _what_?”

Sam’s jaw clenches as he bends forward some more, and Dean didn’t even think it was possible for his brother to make himself so small but Sam is so clearly agonised right now. Heart beginning to flutter in his chest, Dean rushes to the table where he keeps the water bottle. Hadn’t Cas healed Sam of the pain? Is this something else, or did Cas’s healing wear off?

Dean is back on his knees before his brother, one hand on his back and handing him the water with the other, when Sam pales and pushes Dean away. He stands up, wobbles, knees buckling, but Dean gets to his feet immediately, bottle on the floor, water leaking onto the carpet as he keeps Sam from falling.

“Hey, hey,” he says, “what is it? Let me help you.”

Sam swallows audibly, cold sweat pouring down his face as he tries to move. Dean takes one glance at this and starts to pull him to the bathroom, knowing what Sam’s pallor and sweatiness mean. They barely make it, though, and Sam clutches the vanity, staggering out of Dean’s arms as he retches into the sink. And that is when Dean’s whole world shakes.

Because Sam just puked up a whole lot of blood.

And he doesn’t stop. He retches again, bringing up his breakfast and more blood, and then some more, and even more… and… _fuckfuckfuck_.

 

 

_Gastrointestinal bleeding._ Dean remembers the doctor vaguely talking about it. _Fuck_.

“Sammy!”

He clutches his brother by the shoulders, trying to hold him steady as Sam vomits up blood in bouts of retching and choking gasps. The sink is stained an ominous crimson and Sam can’t seem to stop at all. He’s trembling, muscles taut, eyes watering from the pain and puking and Dean feels helpless. He should be able to do something. He can’t let Sam go this way. No.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dean whispers over the lump in his throat, but it’s not. It’s so not. Sam’s arms are shaking something awful and Dean knows Sam can’t hold himself for long, but is surprised when Sam falls back, eyes rolling up in his head.

“No,” he mutters, turning his brother around and cupping his chin. Sam’s eyelids flicker as more blood and bile dribbles out of his mouth, staining Dean’s hand, but Dean doesn’t care. “It’s okay,” he repeats soothingly. “We’ll fix you up. Don’t worry.” Sam sags in his grip, body arching back to Dean.

“Stay with me,” Dean instructs him, lowering his brother to the floor and scrambling up next to him. Sam’s head lolls forward, breaths shallow. His eyes are in that limbo between opening and closing, agonised slits peeking at Dean.

Dean pulls him close so Sam’s head is on his shoulder. He finds Sam’s cheek and then his hair, stroking in circles and trying to calm him down. “You’re gonna be okay,” he says. “I’m calling the ambulance and you’ll be as good as new, okay?”

Sam nods, albeit feebly, and Dean’s eyes spill over from the tears he’s held back so long. “Atta boy,” he says. “’M not letting you go… never. You’re good.”

Sam doesn’t respond, and Dean leans his head back against the tile, barely controlling the shudders that are ripping him apart.

_How long has he been here this time around?_

_A few months._

“You’re doing so good, Sam.”

_I think, subconsciously he’s given up_.

“I’m gonna take care of you.”

_His soul is wounded. I’ve seen him bleed in ways you haven’t seen him physically suffer._

“I’m right here.”

_Sometimes I think he spends too long waiting._

“I’ll get you out of this.”

_Sometimes shit’s hard… but I’d never do that to you, Dean._

“I won-won’t give up on you.”

_And you’d say…what? That I need to drag on anyway?_

“You’re gonna be okay, Sammy.”

_That you know life’s crappy, but I need to live?_

“We’re-we’re all going t-to be okay.”

_Or would you shove another angel into me by manipulating me and taking away any say I have about what I get to do with my body?_

Dean chokes on his own breath. “… And I’m g-going to be okay, too.”

He shuts his eyes, tears leaking thick and fast as he thinks of his phone on the table and his promise to Sam. “I w-won’t let you go,” he whispers again, and he hears Sam take a deep, final breath, Dean’s own broken voice and fractured breaths disseminating into the cold air.

“But I w-won’t make you stay this time. Not when you don’t want to.”

Dean knows, though, that Sam can’t hear him anymore.

The long silence that follows is deafening, except for the sounds of Dean’s sobs as his heart shatters into a million pieces.

**~o~**

  
Billie is as beautiful as the first time Sam saw her, but he can’t help but feel pure anger lick at him like flames when he sees her smug grin. She is standing there like she’s the boss; hair billowing behind her, eyes dark, but Sam isn’t scared of her.

 _You lied,_ he says, making the defiance in his voice as apparent as he can. _You lied to my brother. If you wanted to reap me anyway, you could have at least not given him false hope._

 _You two have to grow up,_ she replies, infuriatingly calm. _This was a lesson for you._

 _Really?! And who the hell are you to decide that?_

Billie crosses her arms over her chest. _Do you understand, Sam, why your brother made the deal in the first place?_

Sam snorts. _Why, you don’t? Guess you don’t have a family, huh._  

 

 

She raises an eyebrow. _So since you do, explain._

_Because he never gives up on me,_ Sam replies before he can even think. _Because he cares, and he takes it as his job to protect me and keep me alive, and he’ll never let go._

Sam remembers Dean whispering the very same words to him not more than a few moments ago, and he wishes he could go back to Dean and console him, because Dean hadn’t sounded all right.

Billie frowns. _So you know for sure that Dean won’t let go? Not even if you want to die? If you_ decided _to die?_

_No. It’s not in his nature._

_Really._ She gives him a half-smile, biting at her lip playfully. _So what about now?_

_What about it?_

_He just stepped back, don’t you think? Ever since last night?_

_You’re the one who set him an impossible deal._

_Oh, please,_ Billie snorts. _You and your brother? When it comes to pulling each other back from the dead, there seems to be nothing that’s impossible for you._

_Yeah, but you told him something last night, didn’t you?_ Sam asks her. _You spoke to him. You brainwashed him._

_I told him the truth._

_Really?_

_Yes, really, Sam,_ she says. _I don’t believe in playing dirty, you know. I could have done that, too, mind you, and you’d both be in my kitty by now._

_How?_

_Never mind._ She flips her hair back. _Don’t you think this is the first time he seems to have listened to someone?_ she asks him. _Why do you think that is?_

Sam smiles bitterly. _Guess the asshole just decided to respect my decision for once._

_And are you angry about this deal?_

Sam shakes his head. _No,_ he says. _Dean just wanted me alive. And I guess he needs to know his boundaries sometimes, but I get why he did it._ He locks gazes with Billie. _I’d do it, too. Just… maybe not violate him in the process, but I’d do it, too._

_And you did it just a few days back._

He shrugs. _Yeah._

_Well._ Billie takes a step back. _I guess I should hold up my end of the deal, then._

He gapes. _What?_

_Since you understand, Sam,_ she says, _my job’s done. But make no mistake, I’m coming for you two. Just do what you’re supposed to right now. Defeat the Darkness. It’s another thing you’re destined for, after all._

And she is gone, leaving Sam behind, thoroughly confused.

He wakes up befuddled and folded into someone’s arms and there is a horrible, horrible sound emanating from somewhere very close to him. The side of his neck is wet. “I’m not letting you go,” Sam hears as his brother says it brokenly, and he wonders if Dean noticed yet that he is alive.

But when he turns a little to press his nose against Dean’s cheek, the sobs that issue out of his brother are worse than anything Sam has heard in years. However, instead of asking Dean to stop crying, Sam frees his arms enough to hug Dean back, tighter than he has in a long, long time.

 

  


**OOO**

  
_You gave me a second chance._

When Billie re-enters Dean’s dream that night, he isn’t scared. After putting Sam to bed he’d crashed, too, and he reckons he hasn’t felt this kind of bliss in ages. His chest feels light, like something terrible and heavy was taken off it, and just the sound of Sam’s steady, healthy breathing is a lullaby to him.

To Dean, nothing is more comforting than Sam being safe and alive.

Billie smiles. _I did give you another chance, Dean, but you’re going to come back, you know. Both you and your brother. And I’m just waiting for the right moment._

_Oh, really?_

She nods. _You’re needed for a lot of things now. Great things. And you can get rid of everything else in your life. Avoid it all, and it won’t even matter. Except for death. Except for me. Because,_ she leans forward, _the moment you’re born—all you humans—you start to die. And we’re just lurking in the corner, waiting for your weak little hearts to beat themselves to death._

A fog appears around Billie, engulfing her, and she raises her hand to wave goodbye. _So. You know what? I’ll see you again. Maybe not too soon, but I will._

_I’ll see you when it’s your time._

Dean lets her leave and continues sleeping, moving into another realm of dreams and wondering how he dodged this bullet, too. But he doesn’t question it because he doesn’t doubt Billie, and he knows she’ll be back. He just hopes he’ll be ready that next time, although he knows he never will. And then he thinks of Sam sleeping like a baby, right in the next bed, and that is enough to erase everything else from his mind and ease him back into the bliss that he’d been in. 

 

 

**The End**

 

 

 


End file.
